


Of Gods Old and New

by Only_1_Truth



Series: Chaos and Logic Chronicles [1]
Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: But a bit of plot to get the ball rolling, But it ends well both all involved, Fluff, Gods, Gods!AU, M/M, Misuse of godly powers for sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Q starts out just a bit full of himself, Smut, Yes I said that it was largely smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 00:25:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4158600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/pseuds/Only_1_Truth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“007 is back from his recent stint of being dead. I’d like you to bring him back in, Quartermaster.”</em>
  <br/>
  <em>“Why me?”</em>
  <br/>
  <em>“Because 007’s also having one of his rebellious moments, where he’s rethinking his life in espionage. He knows most everyone at MI6 on sight, and bringing him back into the fold is difficult when he sees the attempt coming a mile off. He’s not the trickster-god 006 is, but I’d still rather trick and outmaneuver him than have to go through the headache of physically dragging him back to MI6.”</em>
  <br/>
  <em>“I suppose that we’re lucky then, that 006 doesn’t have a habit of questioning his decision to work for MI6?”</em>
  <br/>
  <em>“Oh no.  I’d much rather try to convince a trickster-god to do his duty than the war-god that Bond is.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Or a fic where Old Gods are old news, but still capable of being pains in the arse for MI6.  Q is pretty sure he can out-smart an out-dated Old God, though...  How hard could it be?  He's one of the New Gods, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Gods Old and New

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I take a tutorial on mythology and also read Neil Gaiman's 'American Gods' - to give credit where it is due, some of the ideas for this AU came from that book! I definitely recommend it ;3
> 
> Many thanks to the masterful [Chestnut_NOLA](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Chestnut_NOLA/pseuds/Chestnut_NOLA) , who has recently provided me with a banner for this fic - a banner that has exceeded my expectations, as her skills always do :) Her fics are highly recommended as well!

“007 is back from his recent stint of being dead.  I’d like to say that I’m surprised, but I’m not,” M said, her words surprisingly mild despite the topic.  She did sound monumentally peeved, however.  “I’d like you to bring him back in, Quartermaster.”

The words startled Q, but he lifted his head calmly from the warp-and-weave of the data he’d been organizing.  “Why me?”

“Because 007’s also having one of his rebellious moments, where he’s rethinking his life in espionage,” M said in a tone that showed she wasn’t impressed with the antics - although she’d doubtlessly dealt with them before, it sounded like.  “He knows most everyone at MI6 on sight, and bringing him back into the fold is difficult when he sees the attempt coming a mile off.  He’s the best we have, and he knows it, but that also means he knows I can’t just have him buggering off whenever he feels like it.  He’s not the trickster-god 006 is, but I’d still rather trick and outmaneuver him than have to go through the headache of physically dragging him back to MI6.”

Some might have questioned the ethics of hauling a man back to a job against his will, but knowing what Q did about 007, he saw the logic of it all - the 00-agent doubtlessly did, too.  “I suppose that we’re lucky then,” the Quartermaster joked mildly as he nodded, “that 006 doesn’t have a habit of questioning his decision to work for MI6?”

Apparently accepting that her new Quartermaster - not only a face unknown to Bond, but a breed that he probably hadn’t dealt with yet either - would do as ordered, M sat back primly in her chair, but also gave Q an incredulous look.  She replied bluntly, “Oh no.  I’d much rather try to convince a trickster-god to do his duty than the war-god that Bond is.”

~^~

Have you ever heard of the Elder Gods?

The ones who hung the moon?

The gods of earth and fire and water

And light and shadowed gloom?

 

Have you ever heard of the new, Young Gods?

In a world of wires and numbers?

The kind of gods that need no praise,

No hunger for prayer encumbers.  

 

The Old die out and the New grow strong,

That’s just how the steady earth turns.

But the Old aren’t dead, and if one things true,

It’s that the best survivor _learns_.

 

The little ditty drifted through the Quartermaster’s head as he left Q-branch, everything still abuzz around him, settling into the new location after the destruction of the old MI6 building.  Q, being somewhat more than the other people in the room, heard different layers to the activity, and cocked his head to listen to the concerto of numbers and data filling the air alongside human noise and chatter.  If Q were to lift his hand, he knew that he’d feel his fingers carding through the influx of data and numbers in the air, like a river that he fed on.  Technically, New Gods like himself didn’t need worship to survive like the Old ones did, but they needed a source of energy nonetheless - Q was a god of numbers and wires, like the poem said, and MI6’s Q-branch was a perfect environment for him.  

Sensing a few ripples in the invisible sea of data around him, the Quartermaster concentrated, stretching out his will with minimal effort to fix the problems - he didn’t even need to touch a computer, although it made it easier.  The tiny errors smoothed themselves out under his direction, before Q clocked out early to go and meet one of MI6’s most infamous employees.

And possibly one of its oldest, alongside 006.  

When Q found 007, the man certainly didn’t look his age.  For the past few hours, the Quartermaster had been sitting in the back of a cab, eyes idly focused on the middle-distance while giving seemingly random directions to the driver.  In reality, Q was reading data-streams and remote camera feeds, his innate powers flexing and expanding easily.  Perhaps the driver had realized that he was taxiing around a New God, because he didn’t say anything, just drove where directed.  Now, at a forgotten little bar right there in London - apparently flaunting his right to ignore orders and return to roost at the new MI6 building - James Bond looked just like any everyday man in his prime.  As he slipped in, Q briefly had to wonder whether all the hype about the Old Gods being dangerous was even true.  They were a dying breed, the news said, and highly unpredictable in present-day civilization.  The world was changing rapidly, and the days of sacrifices and prayers were long gone.  The only things that people prayed to now were televisions and online social groups, and even that was a cold, informal worship that only the New Gods could feed on.  

007 and 006 were some of the Old Gods who were still, somehow, surviving, but Q had to wonder whether thriving and surviving were the same thing.  

Perhaps a bit cocky, the new Quartermaster made his way up to the bar, slipping into the seat nearest 007 nonchalantly.  He ordered a drink and pretended not to notice the pale-blue eyes that flicked over to him.  Q drummed his fingers idly on the bar, feeling the technology all around him in the form of mobiles and music-players, because nowhere in London was the world truly ‘un-plugged.’  It made Q feel relaxed and safe, the energy of it suffusing his system like a drug that smothered bothersome emotions like worry or excitement or fear.  

“Hello.”  007’s voice was low and smooth like an offering of mead.  

Q felt a little flush of pride - muted and brief - as the tone rolled off him.  As a New God, and with MI6 feeding him so well, Q was ice where Old Gods like Bond were tricksome fire.  The former was stable, calm, and trustworthy, while the latter was the opposite, and just as likely to warm a person as to burn them, and if Q were normal, he was fairly sure he would have been leaning towards that voice.  007 just kept watching him, eyes glinting with hungry curiosity.

Turning his head to meet 007’s sharp eyes with his own idle look, Q decided to give what he got.  “Hello to you, too.”

Having only recently come to MI6, Q hadn’t had much exposure to the few Old Gods that it employed.  He’d seen the files, though: he knew that they were reckless, destructive, and horrifyingly good at the jobs they did.  Then again, there was something to be said for having the right tools for the right jobs, and two entities that thrived on combat and chaos would naturally do well as 00-agents.  Still, 007 wasn’t so scary up close.  Physically intimidating, certainly, but since Q was more than human himself, an athletic build didn’t mean much - Q could take on a person many times his size, even if he didn’t look it.  007’s eyes and movements said he was a predator, but Q had had just as many regular humans come on to him with similarly blatant intentions.  

He decided that he could work with this.  If he was to be 007’s handler, he may as well prove now that he could effectively control an Old God.  

“Did you want something, or were you just enamored with the idea of greeting the next new face that came along?” Q asked dryly, taking a sip of his drink while his eyes never left the agent’s.  For a brief second, a thrill of excitement shot through his veins, before he tamped it down, reminding himself that only the Old breed let emotions control them.  It was a weakness.  Q definitely saw the purpose for Bond in MI6, but he didn’t see him surviving much longer in a world that was turning so much towards cold, logical technology - and beings like Q.  

Emotions lit like sparks behind Bond’s pale-blue eyes, and his smile broadened.  “Maybe I want something, but politeness never hurts.”  

And with that, 007 reached out and snagged Q’s drink, teasingly pulling it back to himself for a sip.  

“You and I have different versions of politeness then,” Q felt the need to point out.

The lack of obvious ire in Q’s tone seemed to catch 007, and he tilted his head with new interest.  Q put down a point for himself.  

“What’s your name?” Bond asked, changing tactics - being bold instead of infuriating.  Q’s logical mind recognized the maneuver, and he took his drink back carelessly before answering.  

“Does it really matter?” Q replied blithely back, still feeling delightfully in control of the situation.  It was like sitting next to a lion, but knowing that you were invisible - untouchable.  Statistics and numbers slid through his head, telling Q the likeliest direction that this was all going, based on 007’s track-record.  Logic dictated that Q changed directions to avoid that… but the opportunity to match wits and skills against an Old God was just too good to resist.  

Q liked to think that he wasn’t the curious type, but at moments like this, even his usually detached temperament couldn’t deny the draw of a good challenge.  

And Bond seemed to be falling for the idea, too, as his eyes grew half-lidded in contemplation even as his smile became a smirk, became a leer.  He was now looking at Q as one might take in the sight of an opportunity, and Q made himself sit still, face unconcerned as he was blatantly looked over.  Logically, since 007 had come onto him first, the man wouldn’t back down now just because Q was a pale, thin-limbed man instead of a voluptuous woman - and he was right.  007 shifted in his seat so that he was giving Q more of his attention, body-language showing increased interest.  “It doesn’t matter to me, if it doesn’t matter to you,” replied Bond smoothly, his low, easy voice making the words into delicacies for the ear, “Although maybe you’d like to know my name, so you know what to scream?”

Q was proud of the fact that he didn’t even budge, maintaining his calm even as 007 ramped up the intensity of their talk.  ‘ _I’m a New God_ ,’ Q told himself, pleased and steady, ‘ _I don’t get rattled by emotions_.’  007 was using tactics that would work on the normal person, but Q was sure that they wouldn’t work on him.  Putting on a small wry smile, Q formulated a reply, “Maybe I should give you my name after all then.”

The other god chuckled, a low rumble of noise that was surprisingly pleasant for a man who fed off fights and destruction.  While Q had only been born in the last century, 007 was actually old enough to have survived a multitude of wars, but right now, the man just looked like a charming, roguish fellow interested in the idea of a quick roll in the sheets.  Q was determined to give him more than he bargained for, and then use the moment to remind 007 of his duties to MI6.  As far as plans went, it was a bit vague, but Q hadn’t had an opportunity to interact with an Old God before.

And, as mentioned… he was curious.  The lone emotion was slipping into him like water down a drain-spout.  

“You’re an awfully cocky little shit.”

“Maybe I’m just not intimidated by aggressive sexual innuendos.”

“I’ll have to try something else then, to impress you.”

“Don’t strain yourself.”

The light banter again led to 007 laughing, and he downed the rest of his own drink before adding with a dangerous glint to his smile, “You know, I have to wonder whether you know what you’re messing with.”

Q refrained from saying that the same went likewise for the 00-agent.  Instead, he bit the inside of his lip, and then replied more demurely, and a bit teasingly, “Well then, by all means, show me.”

And that was how Q ended up being backed up into a dimly lit room, pleased with himself for finding exactly where Bond had holed himself up of late - even Q’s technological skills hadn’t discovered this upper-story flat, rented above the very bar Bond had been drinking at.  Q clearly had the wayward agent’s attention, as Bond sidled up to him, apparently pushing aside distrust and natural, 00-agent paranoia enough to crowd the smaller man’s body against the wall.  For the first time, Q’s brain stuttered a little, and he began to question the sensibleness of his tactics, and admitted that he had perhaps been a little bit… brash.  

Bond was bigger than Q had imagined - at least this close.  Away from the distraction of the pub and the crowd, the Older God radiated strength in a fashion so palpable that Q’s logical mind scrambled to contain the idea of him with statistics and numbers and mathematical laws. All attempts failed or were flawed, unable to calculate the chaotic singularity standing in front of Q right now, made of ice-blue eyes and sun-tanned skin.  

The agent was quiescent, though, only his interest piqued, but apparently not his cautiousness as he brought them chest to chest.  Q shivered despite himself as he felt fingers - warm and almost hyper-real compared to the tech he was used to living with - brush up the side of his neck. Bond leaned in, but instead of a kiss, his mouth paused just shy of Q’s parted lips.  He was teasing him, breath like a sun-hot breeze over Q’s mouth.  There was the sudden urge to lean forward, to breach that last, scant distance, although the Quartermaster held onto himself admirably and kept still instead, with thirteen-stone-worth of muscle up against him.

Thirteen.  An unlucky number.

Q suddenly realized that Bond was tracing patterns on his skin - it had seemed idle at first, with callused fingertips brushing the bare skin on the side of Q’s neck.  But it was slow, languorous, and dangerously repetitive.  A quick sigil for chaos, a kind of alphabet too indecorous and flexible to fit into the vocabulary of a New God.  Q gasped and arched as he suddenly felt Bond’s full power hit him like a million watt battery being hooked up, vibrant as an electric surge, but as unfettered as a lightning bolt - because this was the power of an Old God, not a New one.  

“Quartermaster,” Bond greeted charitably, never losing the warm interest in his eyes or the congeniality of his small smile.  His lips brushed Q’s as he spoke, that delicate distance still between them.

Q was still quivering from the mass of energy that was just barely tapering off; eyes falling closed, he gulped as he felt Bond’s capable hand stop tracing and instead just resting over the same spot as if steadying Q - or as if he were stopping a wound from bleeding.  There was no pain, but suddenly Q was hyper-aware of Old power threading through him, let in because Q had been distracted and hadn’t seen the 00-agent coming.  “H-Hello, 007,” Q still had the guts to reply back quite professionally, with only the slightest stutter as his body tried to get used to a level of energy that burned hot rather than analytically cold.  He had the sinking sensation that he wouldn’t be able to move away now, even if he tried and 007 backed up.  It felt as if the Old God had just attached puppet strings to him, and even Q, as a New God, knew the power of symbols and names and marks.  They were Old rules… but apparently they were playing by them now.

“Now, what I’m trying to decide, is why you’re here,” Bond continued, still polite but sexually close.  He started moving his hand again, and Q flinched instinctively, worried about another mark.  007 stilled.  “Did M seriously send the new Quartermaster to woo me into bed?”

“How do you know who I _am_?” was what Q really wanted to know.  He was honestly flummoxed in that regard.  Enough so that he opened his eyes and focused on staring at the handsome face in front of him.  

Bond shrugged, causing his muscles to flex in a distracting fashion that Q was… honestly unused to.  The illogical sigil against his neck still sparked a little with power, but now it was more of a throbbing, and somehow the discomfort was shifting to something else.  “Would you believe an educated guess?”

Q thought about it, and ran the numbers and likelihoods in his head.  The coldness of the analysis briefly pushed down 007’s nascent heat.  “No.”

“Fine then.  I actually bribed one of the tech-analysts before coming back into town,” 007 finally admitted, the immorality of his actions _clearly_ not bothering him, “I heard there was going to be a New God moving into MI6, as Quartermaster, but I never expected him to proposition me.”  Q mantled and glared a little bit as one side of 007’s mouth kicked up in amusement, but Q was still well and truly caught.  007 had gotten the drop on him before he even saw it coming, and the powers of the Old Gods… didn’t work in logical ways like Q was used to.  

In other words, he had no idea what it meant to be pinned through and through like this, and he had no idea what 007 intended to do about it.  

Until 007 arched an eyebrow and asked, shifting impossibly closer and watching Q’s mouth with seeming interest, “Did you mean it?”

The words rolled like smoke around Q’s lips, sultry and hot and full of foggy warning.  “Mean what?”

Blue eyes flicked up to Q’s, the outline of color almost dominated by dark pupils in the dark room, but somehow that ring of sapphire seemed to glow unnaturally.  Bond started stroking his neck again.  “Did you mean what you said at the bar?”

Then it hit Q: 007 was in no way mad about being tracked down, manipulated, and set up (however poorly) by MI6.  If anything, he looked as curious about meeting a New God as Q had been about meeting an Old.  That flew in the face of anything Q had believed, because research said that the two classes couldn’t stand one another - New Gods were like the dawn of a new era, reportedly threatening the existence of the Old, and Q himself thought the Old Gods were outdated and due for replacement.  That was part of what had made this encounter so irresistibly interesting, because Q had felt a bit like an analyst collecting data secretively.  Of course, ‘secretive’ and ‘00-agent’ in the same room should have alerted Q to how this would end…  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Q finally pulled together an aloof reply, telling himself that he hadn’t come up with this plan in part because 007 was gorgeous, and regardless of _what_ he was, 007 had a physical appeal that Q would have to be blind to miss.  

Neither moving away nor moving closer, 007 rolled his eyes and braced his other arm almost casually next to Q’s head.  The hand still on Q’s neck had started to feel more benign, even if Q logically knew that it was filled to the brim with power, like a thunderstorm crackling beneath a deceptively human shell.  They were both like that, Q realized: different types of energy confined within the skin they showed the world.  It was so rare to be recognized for _what he was_ , and yet 007 had not only recognized him, but didn’t seem put off by Q’s status as a New God.

Maybe Q was in denial about exactly why he’d decided to use seduction tactics on a recalcitrant 00-agent.

“Fine.  I’ll admit it first then: I knew who you were the whole time and still took you back to my place,” 007 spoke candidly enough to shock Q.  007 was meeting his eyes levelly, still with that eerie glow to his irises that only showed in the dimness - a crack in the facade of normalcy.  Q wondered with a little rush whether that was a good sign, for a reputably unstable Old God to be showing off little slivers of his true self, his true nature.  Bond’s voice lowered until it was a distant-thunder rumble, and he leaned in around Q’s head so the words were next to the smaller man’s ear, “And if you admit to the same, I just might be willing to make this entire debacle worth your while.”

Q shivered from head to toe, getting an abrupt reminder of 007’s power in his system when it sparked in reaction - it felt like a tiny electric charge in his bones, quiet until he moved.  Again, it wasn’t painful, merely… there.  Bond made a growling noise and shifted in front of him as if he noticed, and the connection felt suddenly intimate.  Q shuddered again, and pressed his hands against the geometric flatness of the door to ground himself.  

But there were no numbers here, no steady hum of tech all around him.  This was the accommodation of an Old God, and 007 ruled here.  

Q’s little exhale sounded almost like a whine, and that was all it took to make up the 00-agent’s mind.  His powerful body molded itself until Q was flush against it, and more emotions began to slip in past Q’s natural, cool control.

A hum vibrated against Q’s skin, contemplative and heady as Bond’s nose nudged the soft skin behind Q’s ear.  “Hmm.  I’ll never understand you Young Gods - and I suspect you find the feeling mutual.  You’ve been worshipped with numbers and data,” 007 said as if smelling it on Q’s skin, which maybe he was.  Something intoxicating seemed to be sliding off the agent’s fingers as they stroked past Q’s jaw and up into his hair, a taste of the same kind of power he’d used a few minutes ago to keep Q from retaliating against him.  007’s voice went on as inexorably as the tumbling sea.  He pushed Q’s head to one side until the smaller man’s left cheek was pressed flush to the door, and allowed Bond to lean in unimpeded.  As if imparting a low, husky secret, he spoke right into the shell of Q’s proffered right ear, “Have you ever been praised with skin?”  His body pressed closer, his hand in Q’s hair tightening until it felt like sparks were flying under the smaller man’s scalp, but not the kind of sparks that came from wiring and tech.  “Venerated with warm flesh and a beating heart?” Bond finished in a voice like gravel and velvet, punctuated with the lightest scrape of teeth against the back edge of Q’s jaw.  

Q was beginning to lose his grasp on anything that wasn’t this man and the warmth of him sinking through their clothing.  Somehow, he managed, after a few tries, to gasp out while 007 moved the attention of his mouth to the cords of Q’s neck, “I thought- _Fuck_... I thought that Old Gods were the ones who liked to be worshipped.”  New Gods didn’t care, and Q had always thought that that gave his kind an edge in the detached, modern world.  

Bond chuckled at the expletive he’d tricked out of his Quartermaster’s mouth.  “Sometimes, you’ve got to give a little to get a little,” he murmured against Q’s carotid, enigmatic and suggestive, before he began biting softly and letting his hands roam up under the smaller man’s shirt.  Bond’s power inside of Q kicked up, flexing and crackling as it tried to reach the power on the outside, and Q was drowning for a moment in the rush of dual sensations.  007 finished in a voice dropped low by lust and a heady amount of self-confidence, mouth so close that it felt like the words were not so much said as branded into Q’s tingling skin, “Don’t doubt that I can become someone’s god for a night, if I choose.”  As his hands slipped hot and heavy past the layers of clothing on Q’s torso, he began to prove it, callused fingertips and strong palms possessing whatever skin they touched.  “It’s how my kind survives, and I do it rather well.”

The Old power suffused under Q’s skin didn’t seem to be holding him in place anymore, but he’d forgotten entirely how to move.  All of this was new: Q had always thrived in regimented, sterilized environments, surviving off the ambient nature of logic, numbers, wires, and technology that was like another kind of oxygen to him.  He’d never understood the need for, or the draw of, a personal connection like the Old Gods needed.  In a joke, Q had once said that New Gods were like wifi, whereas Old Gods actually had to plug in to get connected - but suddenly the latter was hitting Q like alcohol for the first time, and he realized that he was by no means numb to it.  

007 had pushed Q’s shirt and cardigan up to the level of his chest, revealing pale skin and a narrow torso, all open for 007’s fingers to stroke and ghost along.  He was still mouthing at Q’s skin, too, but had moved lower down his throat by the time Q coordinated his own arms enough to reach up and clutch at the agent’s taut biceps.  Bond loosed that rumbling, approving growl again, and placed a tortuously chaste kiss against the other side of Q’s neck, where the chaotic mark was - it sent a bolt of sensation right to Q’s groin.  “All you have to do is tell me to stop.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that false praise tastes just as bad as forced sex.”

Even when he sounded irked and truthful (as opposed to husky and sensual), 007’s voice had a rough sort of allure to it, and Q tightened the grip of his slender hands.  “No… I mean…  Just.  Okay.”  Another kiss, this time skirting that damned mark.  Q felt his blood heat up, and his back tensed in a forward arch that was halted by the sheer proximity of 007’s large body.  “Do that again.   _Fuck_.  Please… do that again.”  He slid a hand up 007’s arm, needing to follow the line of his shoulder to the rest of his body, finally curling in the hair at the back of the agent’s neck to try and pull him closer to where he wanted him.  

The low, carnal amusement was back.  “Do what again?”

“You-!  You bloody know what!” Q stuttered out, and barely got the last word to form before 007 startled him by tilting his head and sealing his lips against the sigil for a second time, and Q made a loud, sharp noise, and snapped his head back so fast his skull made a thud against the door.  He didn’t even feel it.  All he felt was that toxically strong Old power exploding like a firework in him, and Q whined as he pressed his hardening erection against 007’s thigh.  

“Isn’t this nicer than all of your computers?  All of your gadgets?” 007 purred lowly, obliging to give Q the friction he wanted, canting his hips and pressing one between the smaller man’s legs.  “Your lot can bloody feed off anything, apparently, but I want to teach you that water may be easier to get your hands on, but wine is sweeter.”  As if to prove it, he latched his mouth onto Q’s, giving the Quartermaster a second-hand taste of the alcohol 007 had been drinking that night.  

Bond’s left hand went to work on the buttons of Q’s cardigan while the other remained sealed to the smaller man’s skin, keeping those sparks in his bones alive like moths beating at a brightly-lit windowpane.  Q groaned as fingernails scratched teasingly at the flared arches of his ribs, then higher up on his chest, and then it all turned off for a second as 007 drew back to pull Q’s shirt and cardigan (at least half the buttons loosened) off over his head.  Blinking behind tousled hair and now-crooked glasses, Q spent a second thinking normally again, now that he didn’t have a bloody god of war touching his skin.  The Quartermaster slapped a hand to the side of his neck, almost surprised to feel nothing, although he knew that the mark was still there, chuckling and burning out slowly like a midnight fire.  

From about a foot away, 007 watched him, slowly starting in on his own shirt-buttons while he waited, seemingly, on Q.  

Q decided that he wanted this, too.  No one had made him walk up to Bond in that bar and tease him, and even now that Bond was changing the rules - the game definitely hadn’t been a fair one from the second 007 had traced a warning and a promise into Q’s skin - it wasn’t enough for Q to tuck-tail and run.  

He surged forward and started attacking 007’s buttons.  

007 was laughing against his mouth, a hot and rolling noise that came right from his gut, even as he let himself stumble backwards under his Quartermaster’s onslaught.  Since 007 was not only a rather ancient incarnation of war, but a trained 00-agent to boot, there was no reason for him to be stumbling or tipping back onto the bed unless he allowed it.  Q fell on top of him, knees on the bed (007’s lower legs hanging off), and hands awkwardly stretching out to brace themselves on either side of 007’s chest.  The blue-eyed man grinned up at him impishly.  

“Let me be your god for a night,” he asked unexpectedly, a hand smoothed across Q’s cheekbone, his palm as hot as a fever.  

Q rebelled against the thought for a second.  He was just as much a deity as 007 was, but then again…  “You were injured in your last mission, weren’t you?  Weakened.”

Untroubled, 007 merely nodded.  He rolled his torso, somehow using that sinuous movement alone to move himself further up on the bed - grabbing Q’s wrists to pull him up along with him.  That enigmatic, Cheshire look was still there, as full of mischief as it was full of pure danger.  

“That’s why you haven’t come back to MI6,” Q finally put the dots together.

“You New Gods are damnably perceptive,” 007 applauded, then leaned up to catch a kiss.  When Q pulled back (mostly in surprise), 007 merely changed directions and mouthed along Q’s jaw, dragging his teeth along the line of bone.  “Stay with me for a night, though, Q, and I can promise you that I’ll come back as strong as I’ve ever been,” he added, somehow making the promise as sultry as anything Q had ever heard.  

It wasn’t desperate.  It wasn’t demanding.  007 might have been injured and weakened on some internal level, but he didn’t actually seem all that worried about it - that was what kept Q from pulling his senses together and backing off.  007 wasn’t just here for the power a good fuck could offer him.  

An artful, powerful twist of Bond’s body rolled them over, Q pinned between Bond’s knees even before he found himself underneath the 00-agent.  The lazy, hungry curve of 007’s mouth wasn’t the look of someone who _needed_ something - it was the look of a man who simply wanted something.  

Trust a 00-agent to put a good toss in bed above the necessity of low power-reserves.  

Q had one last question, even though his pants were starting to get distractingly tight, and he wanted to wiggle up closer to Bond’s looming body.  “Does…?  Will this-?”  He lifted a hand from where it had wrapped around Bond’s elbow to touch the right side of his neck, where 007’s fingers had traced.  “-Will this go away?”

“It’s temporary,” Bond assured, leaning down and nuzzling, not at the mark, but at Q’s fingers over it - perhaps being considerate of Q, and not pushing him to distraction while he was clearly trying to think.  “Although I’m flattered that you think I have enough power to permanently bind a fresh, New God like yourself.”

The self-deprecation was amusing to hear, but Q’s logic read between the lines even as 007’s tongue touched the edge of his ear.  “What if you were at full power?”

“I wouldn’t, Q,” came the unexpectedly gentle answer, “Even in war, there are rules, and I’ll follow them.”  He shrugged, but also lowered his body enough that Q could feel the shrug, and it was distractingly delicious.  “And even if there weren’t, M would skin me alive if I messed with her new head of Q-branch.  You’re safe with me, Quartermaster.”  He finally lowered his head then, so that the next movement of his lips brushed up against the hyper-sensitive skin on the right side of Q’s throat, “But I _am_ going to make you say my name like it’s the only word you know.”  

That was what undid the last of Q’s reservations, and he squirmed and wriggled for more contact, arching his head back in a silent plea for more of that electric bite.  Even while 007 gave him what he wanted - rutting downward with his hips, both of them still somewhat clothed and notably hard, and Q at least being frustrated as fuck - Q got his latter wish more literally than he’d been hoping, as 007 _bit_ down on the mark.  Q, in a moment of ecstasy he’d never admit to having, arched like a bow and _screamed_.  It was as if 007 had reached into him and grabbed every nerve-ending, and lit them pleasantly on fire, but somehow with only the burn and none of the pain.  Q’s toes curled and he felt himself rocket up towards his release, nearly coming right there before 007 released the bite - the agent himself was panting.  

“Let’s get rid of a few more of these layers,” the man suggested with far more presence of mind than he had any right to have.  Despite feeling strung out and still buzzing, Q nodded rapidly and began to help, fumbling with his belt and zip.  He didn’t want to think about how much practice 007 had at this (especially with that comment ringing in his head - that Bond could become anyone’s god for a night - the idea made Q shiver), but it meant that 007 undressed himself first in record time, and then assisted his smaller partner.  Q managed to toe off his shoes and socks before 007 deftly tugged Q’s trousers and pants down his hips, freeing Q’s stiff cock to the open air.  The sudden freedom made Q hiss, and when his last articles of clothing were at level with his knees, he thrashed them the rest of the way off himself.  “Impatient,” Bond observed cheekily.  

“And whose fault is that?” Q huffed back, poking at his neck with [admittedly fake] anger.

007 grinned then, a grin that was more demonic that godly.  “Oh, I take _full_ responsibility for that,” he breathed, and lowered himself back down onto Q like a wave crashing onto its shore.  His mouth immediately started sucking bruises up the skin of Q’s sternum, and the foreign power under Q’s skin awoke and rose up with a buzzing shock.  The smaller man immediately grew taut and found his body writhing, and he felt like he had to hold onto Bond’s strong arms to keep from coming apart.  The sensation of Old energy inside of him should have felt wrong, and while it definitely felt _damn_ invasive, the only thing Q’s brain could register was pleasure.  He had Bond’s hands on him on the outside, and the equivalent of his hands on the inside, scratching and stroking against Q’s control until he worried for his sanity.  Q would get 007 back for this, but not until after they were finished here…

A brief island of logic still left in the New God’s mind asked if there was a regulation against 007 using his powers like this to incapacitate and thereafter work his Quartermaster into a sexual frenzy.  

If there was, Q was never going to tattle on him, so long as this kept up.  

By then, Bond’s mouth was on Q’s collarbone, and a hazy glance on the Quartermaster’s part showed a line of vivid red love-marks - seven, seven for a secret, the old poem went - stacking up the center of his chest.  The possessiveness of being marked combined with the knowledge that marks and sigils meant different things to Old Gods like Bond had Q moaning and grasping more tightly at the agent’s bunched shoulders.  He wanted to leave some little marks of his own, if only half-moon crescents from biting fingernails.  

The rumble Q felt turned out to be 007 chuckling under his breath, pressed chest-to-chest with the man under him.  He turned his head to nuzzle at the inside of Q’s elbow, and the answering sparks actually made Q let go, whining in protest before he realized he’d given his throat permission to make noise.  “Steady on there, Quartermaster.  I promised to show you what worship was, before I took my due,” he promised, and slid up further on Q’s body, to give the smaller man another proper taste of his mouth.  It also slotted their hips together, and Q made another unprofessional noise, but this time it was swallowed up by Bond, thankfully.  Legs curling around 007’s waist of their own accord, Q pulled them closer together, seeking friction.  With only sweat and precum as lubricants, it was less than optimal, so Q was deliriously grateful when - still with his lips intent on Q’s - 007 reached out rather blindly towards the edge of the bed.  A drawer opened, and a bottle lid popped open not much later.  Bond’s hand found its way between their bodies, and the slick oil on his palm quickly turned everything from _nice_ to _perfect_.  Q’s body tried to relax and wind up tighter all at once, and he’d long since closed his eyes to try and limit the stimulus.  

Closing one’s eyes on 007 was a risky endeavor, however.  

“ _Fuck_!” Q gasped, as 007 began dragging his tongue across the illogical mark on Q’s neck - steady, petting licks that mimicked the rhythmic pull of his hand along both their lengths.  007 seemed to be coming undone a bit, too, but nothing like Q, who hardly knew what to focus on: the storm of sensations ripping through his skin from the mark, or the burning, slick, wonderful feel of his cock pressed up against Bond’s in the agent’s hand.  The Quartermaster could all but _feel_ his mind and body trying to stretch themselves between the two points of ecstasy, like a piece of laffy-taffy being slowly pulled apart.  Little nonsense words began to slip out of his mouth, pleas for more or panicked stutters that indicated he didn’t know if he could handle this much - but 007 seemed to think he could, and a moment later switched his grip so that he had only Q’s cock in hand, the better to pay attention to it.  As the agent began to expertly jack his hand up and down, varying pressure and startling Q with twists of his wrist, the agent lazily rubbed his own cock against the crease in Q’s thigh, apparently content with that.  

“Beautiful, Q, beautiful,” Bond began to purr, letting up the attention on Q’s neck before Q’s mind whited out - which it felt awfully close to doing.  007 seemed to know just when to tighten his grip to keep Q’s orgasm at bay, and it was driving Q insane.  He felt like he couldn’t do anything but grab at 007’s arms and shoulders and hold on, mouth open and gasping.  “I could come just from watching you like this,” the praise went on, and another type of pleasure began to spark in Q’s core - a novel sensation that had him opening his eyes and beetling his brows slightly, trying to understand it with what little focus he admittedly had.  The internal warmth grew as Bond kept praising him, “Beautiful, beautiful…  I’ve torn apart countries, did you know?  I’ve toppled kings, ruined nations.”  Huskily, he stroked the next question against the shell of Q’s ear, “Would you like that?  Would you like me to lay destruction at your feet?  I’d give you burnt offerings like you’ve never seen.”

So this was what worship felt like.  Q felt like he was holding a… a piece of sun-warmed honeycomb at his center.  It was warm and sweet and as natural as gold, spinning threads of sensation through him in a slow, languid counterpoint to Bond’s crackling power, or even the throbbing need centered at his groin.  Even with Bond’s hand squeezing down at the base of Q’s cock, he felt his body wind up with tension as he started to reach a peak.  It was like his skin was too tight, and he was going to rip at the seams any second, because there was just too much feeling to hold in...!

Bond hadn’t touched the mark he’d left in some time, mostly just talking, praising Q in a way that felt like a summer day turned into words, but now he leaned over Q, one hand braced so that his weight didn’t crush him, and whispered so softly that Q had to strain to hear it over his own hammering heart and uneven panting, “Your turn, Quartermaster.”  

And he pressed a hard, open-mouthed kiss to the side of Q’s neck, setting him off like a lightning bolt right to his skin.  

“God... _fuck-_!  Bond, _Bond_... _please…_!  Yes…”  It hardly took any coaxing to get Q talking again, it seemed, although his words ran into each other, falling jumbled from his mouth as he writhed and squirmed in place.  He had to come, or he was going to go insane, and the most coherent thought in Q’s head was that 007 was a truly _evil_ god!  Q bared his teeth at the vindictive thought even as he strained his head back, begging physically for more touches to his burning throat.  When Bond obliged, Q’s mood improved in tandem with the pleasure singing like a three-part chorus through his body, and he began to murmur, “Yes yes please yes that… please, Bond…”

“James,” the larger man corrected, his voice starting to sound a bit ragged, and Q wondered fleetingly if this was actually a drag on 007’s energy reserves - he was, after all, feeding some portion of his power into Q’s skin, letting it play like a thunderstorm in another shell.  007’s skin was slick and beaded with sweat, and while he was still doing an expert job at holding Q at the very, very edge of his climax, 007’s hips were jerking more frantically against Q’s hipbone, giving away his fraying control.  

Q’s hands slid along the powerful curve of 007’s shoulders, fingertips dimpling the woven serratus muscles over his ribs in a mindless desire for contact.  As a New God, all Q usually dealt with were computers and data - and people only at a distance.  He was the cat perched aloofly on the windowsill.  007 was clearly the wolf at the door.  Now that 007 had started praising every inch of Q with that wolfish, predatory energy, however, the Quartermaster couldn’t help but reciprocate.  While one of his hands scratched almost pleadingly at Bond’s pectoral, the other slid down to feel the rippling surface of his stomach, flexing and shifting constantly with each roll and jerk of his hips.  “James,” Q began to repeat, recalling that this was what 007 fed off, “James, James, James…”  

“Stay with me just a little longer, Q…  I’m going to make you _sing_.”

“Yes, James,” Q all but sobbed, as 007’s expert mouth moved its way down his chest again, this time lapping a nipple into its grip, suckling slowly and riling up that Old power still waiting.  Q didn’t even need the press of teeth to the sensitive bud before he arched and screamed, cock aching as he still was held off.  “James…!  JamesJamesJames I c-can’t…”

“All right then,” was the shockingly gentle answer, “All right. Shhhh.  You’ve been so perfect for me…”

“James…”  It truly was the only word that seemed able to come out of Q’s mouth, and he heard a low noise like a purr in his ear.  The movements of 007’s body also gave away how pleased he was, and Q distantly recalled the honey-warm feeling of pleasure in his stomach, from being praised and worshipped.  Now it was 007’s turn to soak it in like a stone heating up in the sun.  Q petted the agent’s damp skin to get him to hurry it up, even as a part of his mind tried to think of ways to worship the Old God back - and perhaps 007 could sense that, too, because he grunted and his hips stuttered.  Dragging in a shaky breath, 007 rested his forehead a moment in the juncture between Q’s neck and shoulder.  

Then he turned and murmured one last thing, demanding but soft like velvet over iron in Q’s ear, “Scream my name.”

And then he went from tiring stillness into motion again, sinking his teeth once again into the side of Q’s neck to wake up the mark with a vengeance, power rioting in Q’s veins.  Bond let go of his cock with a sliding, perfect twist, and that was all it took for the pent-up tension to release, and Q’s body almost spasmed with the shock of it.  Bond had Q's shoulders pinned now, to better keep his place on the side of Q’s throat - where he continued to suck and lathe the bruising skin with his clever tongue - but the rest of Q arched right off the bed, heels digging into the back of 007’s thighs as they lost their grip on the agent’s hips.  

Q was pretty sure he did exactly as 007 had asked.  

He also blacked out, he was pretty sure, or went away to some white place where his brain temporarily refused to receive any signals.  He was aware of drifting... drifting... drifting slowly, slowly sinking from a high like nothing he could compare to.  The first thing he was aware of again was his own blissful sigh, as little shivers and aftershocks chased themselves through his body.  

Half-aware, he reached up a hand, feeling the side of his neck as if to remember that crackling power rooted there - but all he felt was the ache of bruised skin.  That in itself was not entirely unpleasant, and woke Q’s mind up enough for him to look over and find 007 beside him.  The man was lounging back, stretched to his full length on the sheets with his head and shoulders up against the headboard, jacking himself lazily.   

“Should…?”  Q stopped and frowned at himself, startled by the raspy, thick quality of his own voice.  Perhaps he’d screamed more than he’d thought.  007 flashed him a delighted and unrepentant grin, which coaxed Q to sort of roll over to face him better, finishing with his best effort at a scowl, “Should I help you with that?”

“You still look a bit boneless, Quartermaster,” 007 observed with that insufferable, smug smile of his, but before Q could try and prove him wrong, the agent added more kindly, “Just relax, Q, and enjoy not having to do anything with your life for a moment.  It won’t last much longer.”

Q hummed a sort of agreeing noise, still feeling a bit like he owed Bond, after the… frankly spectacular orgasm he’d just given Q.  The memory was enough to make Q shiver and the muscles of his lower stomach bunch.  Truly too wrung out to do anything else, however, the smaller man settled down on his side and let his tousled head fall to the equally tousled sheets - realizing with some surprise that his glasses were still on.  

“Can I touch you?”

The frank, curious question surprised Q a little, and his eyebrows disappeared under his hairline.  It was a relatively benign question, however, so Q answered, “So long as you leave the more… delicate parts of me-”  His cock was hypersensitive enough that he knew more stimulation would only translate into pain for the next while.  “-Out of it, I don’t see why not.”

The 00-agent grinned crookedly, blue eyes dancing with mischief even as he nodded in acquiescence, “Your wish is my command, Quartermaster.  And that sigil should have pretty much worn off now, too - I was barely able to keep it stable at the end there anyway.”

Considering the mind-blowing pleasure and sensation that had radiated from it, Q found that hard to believe, but then again, 007 was proving to be quite an impressive man - in multiple senses.  Q lay where he was, feeling a bit self-conscious for the first time as 007 rolled over to get closer to him.  Still holding his body mostly away, and idly touching himself with one hand, 007 pushed Q over onto his back and straddled him.  This time, he seemed more intent on simply studying him than taking Q apart, and the fingers of his free hand were moth-like and gentle as they ran along Q’s collarbone and touched the line of seven love-bites down Q’s sternum.  They stood out spectacularly against Q’s creamy pale skin.  

“They’re pretty,” Q said, tentatively, and reached a hesitant hand up to stroke the marks himself.  He touched them with what little reverence he knew, and watched as 007’s eyes flashed in response - he’d liked that.  As if realizing that Q was studying him in return, blue eyes flicked from where they’d fixated on Q’s hand to meet bespectacled eyes instead.  Looking at the ageless intensity of those pale-blue eyes, Q could well believe that Bond was a god of old.  There was something ancient and wild in that look, something that Q would have made a face at before, but now…

Well, Q had a rather different opinion on his Older counterpart now.  

007 leaned down seemingly on impulse and kissed the smaller man under him, and when Q licked up into his mouth, the 00-agent came messily all over Q’s belly and chest.  Now it was Bond who was shuddering, but Q felt a few quivers himself, if only because 007 was rather breathtaking to behold when he finally let go.  All flexing muscle and gleaming, sweaty skin, he was what men had carved effigies of.  

Q stroked one pectoral muscle absently, his mind slowly returning to its usual, logical, detached place.  It was cool and calm and collected there, but Q was careful to box up this memory and put it where the fickle fire of it would never go out - he wanted to remember this.  “Ready to go back to MI6, 007?” he asked, professionalism back in place.  

007 lifted his head enough to just stare at Q a second, eyes narrowed.  “Bloody hell, you New Gods really do revert back to yourselves quickly,” was all he answered.  

Aware that he was still naked and undignified, Q nonetheless managed to huff and roll his eyes.  “And you _Old_ _Gods_ have no sense of propriety.  You do realize that M is about ready to sic the dogs on you.”

“She already sicced the Quartermaster on me,” Bond returned, incorrigible.  He got off Q, but only to grab some tissues to wipe off Q’s torso.  

More pleased with the gesture than he cared to contemplate, Q laid still as he continued to harangue the 00-agent, “You don’t have a very functional set of priorities either.  You _do_ have a job, as I recall.”

“I’ve had it for a few generations, actually, but you’d be surprised how short a time that is.”

It was sometimes both humbling and unsettling to be reminded of how old James was.  Q looked over at him with a startled sort of face before he could help it, but Bond merely shrugged, smiled enigmatically, and tossed the dirtied tissues into the nearby trashcan.  Then he grabbed the blankets that had been kicked to the end of the bed and dragged them up around his waist, folding his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.

Q blinked at him, unimpressed.  “You’re just going to take a nap now, are you?”

“You could join me.”

Caught off-guard by the relaxed offer, Q just stared a bit more, and frowned and shifted on the covers himself.  

One blue eye cracked open, taking him in all too keenly like the spy Bond was.  “Sex can take a lot out of a person, Q, and that’s without the addition of me half-binding you with that mark to start with.  Essentially…”  007’s grin widened wolfishly. “...You’ve been keeping up with two of me.”

The reminder of being worked at from without and within had Q’s breath catching, and his cock made a half-hearted effort at standing to attention again.  The Quartermaster tried to push down the corresponding - and embarrassingly eager - emotions.  He folded his arms and lay down on his stomach, chin propped on his hands.  “You’re bloody full of yourself,” he retorted.  

“And _you_ were full of _me_.”

Now Q’s cock was starting to try and harden again, and even though it was way too soon, the pooling of pleasure was imminent.  Q wanted to swat the 00-agent suddenly.  “Shut it, 007.”

“Only if you stay and sleep with me,” was the returning bargain, “Then you have my sworn oath or what-have-you that I’ll come back to MI6 with you, meek as a lamb.”

“One, I don’t think you do anything meekly,” Q lifted a finger pointedly, “And two - why do you want me to stay and nap with you so much?”

Finally just sitting up, rolling his eyes, and reaching over to gather a protesting and weakly wriggling Quartermaster to him (Q was more exhausted than he’d thought, his limbs made of wet noodles, apparently, and not useful at all in fending off 00-agents), 007 grumbled something about too many bloody questions right after good sex.  He didn’t settle down and let go again until he was spooned up behind Q and the blankets were over both of them.  

“I am being forcibly cuddled,” Q tried to inform him, even as he relaxed, “Against my will.”

“Noted,” 007 mumbled, “You can forcibly return me to my job in espionage later, against my will.  Well, mostly against.  I’m not sure what else I’d do with my time if it wasn’t something useful for Queen and Country anyway.  And before you ask - no, I’m not going to tell you why a thousand-year-old _víðarr_ like me decided to work for MI6.”  When Q stilled, realizing with a start that he’d wanted to ask exactly that, 007 relented and said grudgingly, “But Alec might tell you.  Later.  After you let me sleep.”  

Q had been trying to puzzle his way through the term ‘ _víðarr’_ which he hadn’t heard before, and therefore couldn’t accurately spell to search his mental catalogues for, but he had a more immediate question.  “Can you at least tell me why the pressing need for me to stay with you?”

Bond murmured something against the back of Q’s head, something in a language that likewise was unknown to Q.  He began to call up his abilities, to reach out into the data-rich world around him to seek some answers, but after sex with and Old God… Q’s Newer powers were having none of it.  They seemed more content than Q himself to just lie back, snooze deeply, and recover.  

“Did you just answer you own question there?” Bond’s next question was in English, at least, but sounded entirely too knowing.  

Sighing out stiffly through his nose, Q tried not to let his temper rise up, “You didn’t tell me that I’d be effectively powerless after having sex with you.”

“I didn’t know.  Never bedded a New God before.”

“You’re an irresponsible, impulsive arse.”

“And I can already tell we’re going to get along _famously_.  Need I remind you that this was your idea?” was the sarcastic, yawned reply, but instead of staying gruff and snarky, 007 just relaxed again and pulled Q carefully closer.  The Quartermaster had to admit, there was something safe and cozy about being wrapped up in the limbs of a man who almost couldn’t be killed, and who knew more about fighting and staying alive than anyone had a right to.  

So instead of bristling more or making additional cold remarks, Q settled down, ignoring the questions in his head until later - until he could dip into the flow of data again.  Being so… unconnected… like this should have scared him, but he didn’t feel broken inside, merely temporarily shut ‘off’ - a computer restarting instead of a blown fuse.  Without a connection to the data that he thrived on, of course, he could theoretically fade away to nothing, but he still had that mead-and-honey heat in his stomach, the hot-fire-bite of old-fashioned power.  He and 007 were both sated, he figured, and maybe taking a nap wasn’t such a bad thing to do.  

Besides, his memory of the last hour was still burning brightly in its place in his geometric, sterilized mind, and Q couldn’t be anything but pleased to think back on it.  

Q didn’t realize that he’d made a noise reminiscent of purring until Bond echoed the noise in his deeper register, and pressed a fleeting kiss to Q’s neck.  “Rest today, Quartermaster.  Fight tomorrow,” was his mumbled suggestion.

It was impossible to tell if Bond was reciting an old war adage, or whether he simply foresaw more arguments with his new Quartermaster - either way, it sounded logical in a way that appealed to both of them, and soon there was just the sound of soft, steady breathing to fill the air, and the inaudible thrum of two powerful gods resting in tandem.  

**Author's Note:**

> This AU was incredibly fun to build, and I must thank my editor not only for catching my spelling/grammar errors, but really making me think about the world-building I put into this one-shot! So if anyone else has questions, I'll be happy to answer them :) I don't have any solid plans to add to this, but there are just so many little threads here to play with *starts batting at it like a kitten with yarn* 
> 
> I'm back from my stint at Oxford, and should hopefully start posting regularly - so hopefully this will keep everyone contented until I can get the next chapter of 'Blue-Eyed Monster' finished! Consider this a test-run for the smut I plan to put in that chapter... (~u^)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Solstice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4183248) by [voculae (northernMagic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/northernMagic/pseuds/voculae)
  * [[PODFIC] Of Gods Old and New](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13746510) by [Loolph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loolph/pseuds/Loolph)




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